


Who Let The Zombies Out? Who? Who, Dr Who?

by EMMSM2765



Category: Chuck - Fandom, Dr Who - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EMMSM2765/pseuds/EMMSM2765
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in season 2 of Chuck and after season 4 of Doctor Who, featuring the tenth doctor. When a plague of zombies infests Earth, the Doctor must help Chuck and Sarah prevent the human race from becoming extinct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Let The Zombies Out? Who? Who, Dr Who?

Who Let the Zombies Out? Who? Who, Dr Who?  
Chapter 1

 

A cold breeze echoed through the CIA’s underground chamber. Casey’s feet swiftly beat against Castle’s floor, as if horses’ hooves were pounding against thickened steel.   
“Casey, thank God!” Chuck exclaimed; the quiver of his voice accompanying the rapid pulse of his anxious heart. The cell phone, clutched in his palm, shook with the trembling motion of his quivering hand. Casey’s shadow towered over him, reaching his presence at the metal desk.   
“Buy More is flooded. I couldn’t get enough supplies.” He dumped a few electronics onto the metal counter of the central room in Castle, creating a rummaging clatter. His green polo Boy More shirt appeared slightly ragged from his encounter. “Have you made contact with Beckman yet?”  
“No, she isn’t answering our calls. No one is! I haven’t been able to get hold of Ellie either.” Chuck’s arms hung low at his sides whilst his un-tucked Buy More white collar shirt now looked tattered and torn. Its once clear, white appearance had faded, being replaced by the stain of dirt. Fighting zombies might appear fun in movies, but in real life, your clothes often pay the price. And Chuck’s outfit clearly had.   
Casey’s domineering eyes took notice of the phone in Chuck’s hand. It was astonishing that even during a zombie outbreak the nerd herder’s main concern was that all his loved ones were all right. ‘He must have called everyone on his contact list!’ Casey presumed.   
“What if she was attacked? Maybe something happened to her? Where would she be? Oh no. Wait, Casey, what if she turned?”  
“Where’s Walker?” He responded, his tone deficient in worry.  
Adding contrast to the lucid resonance of fear present in Chuck’s voice, Casey’s seemed calm and attentive. The situation erupting around them – around the world – couldn’t help but generate panic on a global scale. Though Casey had faced fear before. Heck, it came with the job. But through all the near-death circumstances he overcame; through all the bullets fired his way, he had learned a valuable lesson – you are not going to survive when you let fear cloud your brain.   
“Sarah? She’s locking the Orange Orange.”  
He frowned with concern. “Still? What’s taking her so long?” 

 

Hidden behind the serving counter of the frozen yoghurt store, Sarah’s body squatted below, attempting to keep the sound of the irregular beat of her heart to a minimum. Her gun lay clutched in her hands as her thumb continually brushed against its surface, anxious in her predicament.   
Like a bull fighter entering into a bull’s arena, the Orange Orange was just looking for trouble. Its entrance remained unlocked and open, paving the way for any zombies to enter. Luckily for her, the store remained vacant, except for her privy presence behind the counter. That, at least, remained consistent. Even after death, no one seemed to desire the store’s foul frozen yoghurt; and thus preferred to remain outside its quarters. 

 

Sarah’s mission was to lock the store and turn off the lights without being seen by any zombies. Though unlike Buy More, the Orange Orange never acquired a sufficient locking system. Regardless of whether she managed to lock the entrance or not; if some zombie saw her presence, they would get their gang together, reach the store and eventually make it through, leaving her and Castle not necessarily safe. This would be simple enough, if a single zombie wasn’t strolling back and forth right outside the entrance! Its wandering eyes and arrhythmic footsteps caught her eye whenever she decided to take a peek from behind the counter. It limped back and forth, gently promenading left then sauntering right; as though it were a security guard, protecting the area from any intruders. Ironically, if it did enter, it would acquire the title of ‘intruder’.   
Come on, Sarah. Attack.  
Thoughts charged through her frantic brain, contemplating the best choice of action.   
I am a spy. I kill people on a regular basis. Why am I so resistant to kill a zombie?  
With heavy breathing she felt anxiety overpower her. She had never killed a zombie before. Yes, she had faced them, but never killed one. Earlier that day, during their frantic flee towards Castle, zombies fell along their path. They shot at them, though no bullets seemed to successfully finish the job. That day had been her first encounter. It would serve as everyone’s first encounter. The Plague of the 21st Century.   
These ‘diseased monsters’ weren’t like normal humans. If you shot a person in the leg, they would fall down and be left unable to run away. Though with these crazed zombies, if you shot them in the leg, they would continue to hobble towards you, never giving up on their need to attack.   
Sarah felt slightly jarred by this realisation; acknowledging that her best option would be to take the kill shot – in the head. After all, that was what Chuck kept screaming as they ran for safety, “In the head. The movies always shoot them in the head!” However, this was never proven to succeed. During their charge towards Castle, they hadn’t been assured of its success. Their eyes hadn’t concentrated on who they were shooting at, but more on how to triumphantly escape. This failure to recall who remained a threat and who had been discarded helped spur uncertainty in her mind; contributing to the remnant nerves that shot through her body. Nevertheless, she felt burdened by the idea of killing one, of cutting its life short. Perhaps it was the notion that the zombie used to be human. Well, a normal human. An innocent. Ordinarily, she was more accustomed to assassinating criminals; people who lack regret for their heinous crimes and, if not detained, would continue to commit such atrocities. But this zombie, and the rest of its kind, was a person who received the short end of the stick. Bad luck fell along their path and along with that came the ‘curse of the bite’. It seemed quite repugnant and ominous in essence. Like a twisted, medieval game of loser’s choice – once bitten or clawed you obtain the option of either a) death or b) the transformation into zombie form. It was a tough choice to face and Sarah felt that no innocent should have to endure such a punishment.   
And now here she was, presented with the option of sending a bullet through its brain or patiently waiting for the lethal beast to eventually depart. The second option remained more appealing though. For if she did release the trigger, its ensuing sinister thunder would ripple through the street, alluring more zombies towards her territory. That was an option she would rather disregard.   
Sarah’s eyes glared down at the Orange Orange employee uniform her body fit close to.   
Great. A Zombie outbreak in this outfit! This isn’t even my real job and I never have time to change!?  
The orange hairband, preventing her hair from falling into her eyes, matched the luminous orange of her close-fitting tank top and her three-quarter, white jeans tightly clutched her calves. It was such a repellent combination – orange and white.   
She slowly rotated her head round the corner, checking up on the presence of her zombie rival.   
Dammit. Why won’t he leave?  
Releasing an exasperated puff, she gently dropped the weight of her head against the counter, allowing the light feel of her blonde hair to come into contact with the serving table’s delicate, smooth texture. Her leg extended forward, resulting in her tautened muscles feeling the consequence of maintaining the same position for too long. As her leg stretched out, the inauspicious squeak of her orange converse sneaker gliding over the floor’s surface announced the screeching halt of her heartbeat. Her blood sizzled; as though she were a student caught for cheating and now felt the pangs of embarrassment sweep over her.   
Surely he heard that.   
Her thought-struck mind spun with opposing assumptions – That was loud. He heard that. No, he couldn’t have. Is he coming? No? I should attack. Wait. Don’t. What if he didn’t hear?   
Feeling as though she dug her own grave, she remained indecisive on how to remove herself from this sunken pit. However, she shovelled aside her daunting insecurity of incertitude and hoisted herself up from her incommodious position behind the counter, turning to face the threat.   
Oh. Shit.   
Its consistent limp seized and its dead eyes fell upon hers. The zombie hadn’t noticed her unfortunate, high-pitched screech. But now it had taken notice of her.   
Silence befell the room. Her frantic mind now lay void and vacant. Sluggish in movement, one foot slowly followed after the other, steadily nearing the sound of her racing heart. Appearing to be a fresh victim, his white training shoes still maintained their angelic colour; barely darkened by the stain of blood.   
He was only a kid. The youthful complexion of his features displayed the fact that he hadn’t surpassed the age of sixteen. His white t-shirt marked the battle he encountered, carrying the cascade of blood from his wounds. He struggled to keep his head upright, like a baby whose neck is too weak to sustain the weight of its head. Regardless, the impending eyes of Sarah’s enemy held hold of her defensive gaze. As the proximity between him and the CIA spy diminished, the colossal bite situated on his left shoulder grew in size. The volume of his groans intensified. With every step, his threatening teeth and intimidating nails drew close to her smooth, perky flesh. His shadow neared the counter. Her feet cautiously tread backwards. He drew closer. The threat amplified. Her back clung against the cold touch of the wall.   
Eventually, she shattered her prolonged stare and glanced down at her gun, recalling its purpose. She returned her eyes to the rabid ones before her and lifted her weapon.  
“Sorry.”  
Bang.

 

Casey’s vigorous feet trudged towards a computer. His fingers frenetically tapped against the keyboard.   
“You don’t think she is hurt, do you? Would something have happened to her?” Chuck questioned, afraid to hearken the impending sound of Casey’s response.   
“Walker might have made contact with a herd.” With force, his finger pressed down on the keyboard’s ‘Enter’ button, attempting to tune in to the Orange Orange security camera to make visible the action that occurred upstairs.  
“A herd?”  
He ignored Chuck’s reply. A discouraging grunt vibrated his vocal cords in response to the information the computer revealed. “Hm.” The resonance of his voice signalled the menacing threat of peril. Congealed by the stunning conquer of fear, Chuck froze in his stance; resulting in the sound of scraping chuckies to abruptly come to a halt.   
“What? What is it?” he quaked.  
“Orange Orange’s security cameras are down.”  
“What does that mean? What has happened to Sarah?”   
“Don’t know.”   
Casey’s feet stomped towards the room of weaponry, acquiring more guns and forms of defence. Chuck’s darting eyes focussed on the computer Casey’s hands had frenetically tapped. With a flicker, a lightning bolt struck his head, providing him with an idea.   
The sound of chuckies scraping against the floor resumed as he charged towards the computer. Perspiration dripped from his forehead, sinking deeply between the hollow spaces of the keyboard. The sweat from the tip of his fingers smeared the buttons’ surface.   
Frown lines creased between Casey’s eyebrows. “Chuck. What are you doing?” A portion of threat sullied the tone of his voice.   
“Checking in on Buy More. If just Orange Orange’s security cameras are down then something has gone seriously wrong.”   
With bulging eyelids, Casey’s countenance became clouded with an austere stern. “Don’t! Chuck!”  
But his warning arrived late. Chuck’s finger had slammed down on ‘Enter’ and the view of the Buy More store overcast the screen.  
Well, these cameras seemed to be working.  
A wounding bang pounded against his heart as his eyes absorbed the picture displayed before him. The store appeared to be overturned – boxes of supplies showered the floor and zombies filled every corner, walking like drunkards returning from a New Year’s party. Blood smirched the walls, stained the clothing and skin of the cannibals, and drenched the floor in a pool of red gore. The state of Buy More dampened the air in sorrow’s gloom, serving as a reminder of what human life would now become. The store was dire and darkened, allowing the only gleam of light to originate from its wide open doors.   
“We should lock the store,” Chuck muttered. “We need the Buy More. We need its supplies. They will...”His heart stopped. An icy breeze trickled fear up his spine.  
Dead bodies.   
Everywhere.   
Rotting, remaining flesh burned his eyes with dread’s acidic touch. “...come in handy. Casey, you went to collect some things from Buy More. Who was with you in the store?”  
“A few employees and customers.”  
His heart restored its rapid patter. “Which employees specifically?”   
“Well bozo one and bozo two managed to sneak out. Cowards. Anna wasn’t there. Busy on an instalment. And Big Mike is...humph...fishing.”  
He gulped. “And Morgan?”  
Silence escaped Casey’s lips. He ignored Chuck’s frantic queries and returned his attention to his weaponry, deciding on the best form of attack. Only Orange Orange’s security cameras failed to work. That information seemed suspicious and he knew he should tread upstairs to inspect the scene.   
“I have been calling him all day and he never picked up. Casey, where’s Morgan?”   
He raised his blank, emotionless eyes to Chuck’s, whose carried the explicit expression of horror. “He’s in the Buy More, Chuck.”   
The asset’s body froze up. Sweat soaked his forehead, causing damp streams to cataract down the side of his face. His constant quiver now morphed into a raged panic. “You left Morgan in the Buy More!?”  
Casey’s eyes fell back to his weaponry, providing Chuck with the cold shoulder. “There is nothing I can do.” His intention was icy and gelid.  
“No, Casey, you don’t understand. Morgan is my best friend. You can’t just leave him there!”  
“No, you can’t just leave him there. I can.”  
“He will die, Casey!”  
“Not my problem.”  
The asset charged towards him. His stomping feet aggressively stepped forward. “Then make it your problem.”  
Casey flung his face towards Chuck, revealing the truculent gaze of his threatening eyes. His robust form towered over the skinny Nerd Herd employee, accentuating his menacing stature. Within two stodgy footsteps, he reached the frightened boy.   
“And what do you suppose I do? Huh? Bring him down to Castle? Reveal our secret base? Blow our covers? I can’t do that, Chuck,” he yelled, “I’ll be going against orders.”  
“Forget orders, Casey. Just this once,” he gulped. “The CIA has bigger things to worry about right now and not to mention, we need to clear that store. The supplies you collected are not enough. But most importantly, my best friend is out there and there is no way I am just going to sit back and watch him die.”  
Casey released his stringent gaze, turning away and mumbling, “If he hasn’t already,” under his breath.   
The hope for his assistance seemed to gently slip away. “Are you not willing to help me?” he exhorted. No response.   
Chuck acknowledged that it was time to take action. If Casey wasn’t going to do the right thing then it was time that he did. His hand grabbed hold of a gun, situated in the room of weaponry, drawing Casey’s attention towards him. Once his muscular body turned to face him, Bartowski lifted his gun.   
“What do you think you are doing?” the dominant spy replied; his tone smeared with degradation.   
“Saving my best friend.” The gun he possessed quacked from the shaking of his unsteady hand.   
“Don’t be a hero, Chuck,” he warned, treading closer.  
“Don’t threaten me, Casey. I will shoot.”   
“Humph. Is that so?”   
Lacking fear from that threat, he rapidly reached Chuck’s presence and tugged away the gun, removing it from the human Intersect’s quivering grasp. In a single swift move, he pushed the Nerd Herder against the wall, with his arm roughly jammed against his neck.   
Chuck gasped for air. “Casey ... You’re hur – you’re hurting me ...”  
“Do you seriously think you can just threaten me and get away with it? You will be zombie-meat in an instant out there and Beckman gave me strict orders to keep you out of harm’s way. Right now, American soldiers are fighting for the safety of the world and you’re more worried about your best friend? That’s not noble, it’s pathetic. Instead of fighting for our country I am stuck here looking after your whiny ass. I’m following my orders. So follow yours. Stay put.”   
He released his strengthened hold, providing Chuck with the opportunity to safely breathe. He inhaled large portions of fresh air, trying to combat the rising carbon dioxide present in his lungs.  
“Casey ...” he croaked, gently stroking the red area of his neck, “it’s Morgan.”

 

Acknowledging the fear of losing a best friend, Casey’s gaze held hold of Chuck’s downtrodden eyes. He understood that this human Intersect would stop at nothing to ensure Morgan’s safety. He couldn’t risk the asset escaping and transforming into a violent, inhumane beast. Besides, it would just be a few zombies. He could handle that many, couldn’t he? No biggie, right? Not to mention, the store would come in handy. They needed Buy More’s products. And barring the store would also prevent any chances of a zombie reaching Castle. Despite Casey’s stodgy resistance, all directions pointed towards rescuing the bearded fella as being the better option. Though, there was one slight problem.   
Pressure formed from the clenching of his fists. “They don’t die, Chuck,” he remarked, his voice cased with concern. “The zombies; can’t kill them.”  
“You can.”  
He puffed. “You know your friend’s probably already turne–”  
“No, he hasn’t!”  
An infuriated sigh blew through his nostrils and eventually he decided to give in.   
“Fine.”   
Chuck’s heart skipped a beat. A sense of relief shone through his once clouded sky.   
“But I am only doing this because I agree. We need the Buy More.” A smile prominently shrouded Chuck’s face, illuminating it up with warmth. “And I guess it gives me an excuse to use my new gun.”  
“See. It’s a win-win!”   
Before he could reject, Chuck flung his arms around him and embraced him with a hug. “Thank you, Casey, thank you. Thank you.”   
“Don’t! Bartowski, Get off.”

 

Silence echoed through the hallways of the underground chamber. Chuck remained alone with only his presence left to accompany him. His hazel eyes glared upon the computer’s monitor, watching Casey’s mission in Buy More unfold.   
The jarring noise of musical chant broke the silence and blurred Chuck’s ears, awakening his mind from his deepened thoughts. He extracted his cell phone from his pocket and felt overwhelmed the moment his eyes caught hold of the caller’s name.   
“Ellie!? Ellie, oh my gosh. I was so worried. Thank God you haven’t been hurt. Where are you?”  
“I am home. Chuck, talk to me. What happened? You left me over a dozen missed calls.”  
“Wait? You don’t know what is going on?”  
“What? What is going on?”  
“Okay. That’s good. It means the outbreak hasn’t reached your area yet. Ellie, you need to listen to me very carefully. I need you to lock your doors, close your blinds, turn off your lights and be very silent.”  
“Chuck, what happened? You are scaring me.”  
“I know, Ellie,” his voice trembled, “but I can’t explain to you over the phone .You won’t believe me. You just need to trust me. Where’s Awesome?”  
“Uh, Devon is still at the hospital. His shift ends in a couple of hours.” Harkening that inconvenient information, Chuck’s eyes drastically shut with anxiety. Captain Awesome being at work would explain why he wasn’t answering his calls. Though he still lacked knowledge as to whether the outbreak had spread to Westside Medical yet. Not to mention, Devon’s trip home would not be a very safe one. “What is going on, Chuck?” she continued, “I am starting to panic.”  
“Ellie, please just trust me.”   
Resistance sprouted from within. He knew he would have to inform her of the world’s current predicament. But to notify someone that walking beside danger on a daily basis would now become the new normal wasn’t the easiest information to provide someone with; especially when that someone happens to be your sister. Nevertheless, he couldn’t keep her in the dark for too long.   
“Just please do everything that I told you. Make sure your house is completely secure and be very, very quiet. And if you get hold of Devon, tell him to do the same thing. I am going to come for you, okay. Wait for me.”  
The sound of fear quaked through her voice. “Chuck, what is go–”  
“Trust me, Ellie.”  
Her voice cracked. “I do, Chuck. I’m jus–”  
“Ellie.”  
“Yes?”  
“Just remember whatever happens, I love you.” 

 

He tightened the bulletproof vest round his body; acknowledging that it may appear pointless when fighting zombies, though he wore it regardless. As he reached for the tranquiliser gun, present on the central metal desk of Castle, the steel entrance into the underground base abruptly opened. It released a vacuum-like sound, causing Chuck’s heart to momentarily lapse. He turned to face the entrance at the top of the stairway.  
“Chuck, what are you doing?” The newcomer asked, cautiously running down the steps. She tucked her gun beneath her outfit.  
His eyes widened with astonished amiability. “Sarah!”   
Charging towards her, he met her presence at the bottom of the stairs. Startled, Chuck surprised her with an unforeseen hug as he wrapped his arms around her, tightly holding her body close to his. His slender fingers clung to the back of her orange tank-top. “I was so worried. I thought something happened to you.”  
She smiled with sincerity and embraced the hug, sliding her hands up his back. Her flabbergast eyes seemed to capture the look of frightened dismay.   
“I’m okay, Chuck.”   
As though an overbearing burden weighed over her, her eyes shut closed with relief. Comforted by his presence, she released a sigh drowned in contentment. Finally, she was free from the heinous zombie’s derision.   
He pulled away. “Are you sure? Your body feels so cold. It’s like you experienced a big scare.”  
“I’m fine.”  
His mind clouded with concern. Her reply was so defensive.   
“Where’s Casey?”  
“I sent him on an errand...” he gulped, hastily changing the topic of discussion. “Anyway, um, the Orange Orange’s surveillance cameras aren’t working.”  
She diverted the subject, having her eyes fall upon his body armour and choice of weapon. “Where are you planning on going?”   
He glanced down, eying his attire. The bulletproof vest and tranquiliser gun definitely screamed ‘entering into battle’, though the expression shrouding Sarah’s face displayed her confusion as to why.  
“Oh. Okay, yes. Sarah, I know what you are thinking and before you say no, please hear me out.”   
Her eyes glared into his, fearing that he planned to engage in an activity that would place him in harm’s way.   
“My sister and brother-in-law are out there without any help. They are all alone. I have got to find them and bring them back here.”  
Silence.   
Regardless of whether she approved or not, he would still attempt to risk his life to save his family. However, a few seconds passed without a single word being uttered through her lips. Even if he didn’t require her consent, he still preferred to have it.   
“Sarah?”   
She raised her eyebrow.   
“No.”  
Her shoulder brushed passed his, augmenting the distance between them. Disappointed, the clarity of his frustration became less transparent. He turned to face her with her back still to his.   
“Sarah, I’m not asking for your approval. Sorry, but I have to go through with this, regardless of whether you disagree with it.”  
“No, Chuck,” her irritable eyes shot him a worried look of admonishment, “you aren’t.”   
“Sarah –”  
“This isn’t a negotiation, Chuck. You are not leaving Castle.”  
A shroud of worry stained his features. “Sarah, this is my family we are talking about, okay. And in a family people watch out for each other. Protect each other. It’s what we do. I know that the word ‘family’ is something you struggle to comprehend, but if I don’t help them then Ellie and Devon will die. And I can’t let that happen.” Annoyance and fear was clearly audible in his voice. She bit her inner gums; her heart experiencing the sharp pangs from his remark. Even still, she refused to show it. “Sorry. I – I didn’t mean–”  
Her feet rapidly neared him. “Bringing them to Castle will expose our covers, Chuck; and then you will have put their lives in even more danger.”  
“They already are in danger!”  
“Trying to reach them will be suicide. It would be safer if everyone stayed indoors.”  
“And then Echo Park and the Hospital get overrun just like Buy More? They aren’t safe then.”  
Like a beggar, his eyes held the look of desperation, pleading for her to understand. It was his sister. His sister’s husband. How could he possibly just let them fight the monsters on their own? He had the CIA at his fingertips. With such an advantage, how could he deny them that refuge?   
Without a word spoken, his expression revealed his plea. However, Sarah knew she couldn’t take a chance with the asset’s life. Although overcome with concern, her frustrated expression revealed her resistance in letting him go.  
“I’m sorry, Chuck,” she consoled. “The answer is no.”  
He clenched his jaw, feeling vex sprout within. “Fine.”   
As she turned away, he rotated and departed up the stairway, gripping his tranquiliser gun tightly in his palm. The fast patter of his hasty feet drew her attention towards his attempted escape; ensuing the consuming look of dread to suck the colour from her cheeks.  
“No! Chuck!”   
Promptly, she charged towards him, eventually catching a tautened grip on the back of his bulletproof vest. She turned him round to face her, leaving his gobsmacked expression noticeable. “No, Chuck. Listen to me. I can’t let you leave. It is not safe out there.”  
“Exactly!”  
“Chuck, my main priority is to ensure your safety,” she fleetly paced, “But if you charge out those doors I can’t promise that I will be able to protect you.”  
“Then don’t make that promise, Sarah.”  
He tried to free himself from her solid clutch by making a move towards the exit. However, she briskly grabbed hold of his wrist and pushed him against the cold, hard wall; leaving him unable to escape her iron grip.   
“Stop being so stubborn! How do you even plan on defending yourself? With a tranq. gun? Do you think a tranquiliser gun is going to stop a zombie?”  
“Perhaps.”  
“No, it won’t. You will die, Chuck,” she shuddered, “And I don’t want to let that happen.”   
The frantic quiver of her voice gnawed away at his frenzied heart.   
What was she implying?  
Thumping against his rib cage, his throbbing heartbeat echoed through the silent, secret base. Whiffs of air escaped her lungs and with every exhale, she appeared short of breath. Her brows continued to furrow as the consistent look of concern and frazzled exhaustion radiated through her eyes.   
“What are you saying, Sarah?”  
Finally she came to realise – they were alone. In Castle.  
He stared. She stared. Their persistent gaze into the windows of each others’ soul failed to depart. Darting from one eye to the next (curious as to what the other’s next plan of action would be), they remained glued in their stances for what seemed like an eternity; muted in the gentle breeze of the heavy, compressed air between them.  
Her eyes lowered, falling upon Chuck’s lips. Its peachy, delicate appearance drew her attention, causing he heart to tenderly pulsate.  
What was she thinking?  
His thumping heart continued to beat, simultaneous to hers. Removing her gaze from his lips, her eyes returned to his, witnessing his gaping stare.   
“Sarah?–”  
Vworrp. Vworrp.  
The unannounced sound of an alien spaceship landing in Castle fractured their prolonged eye-contact. Sarah nimbly hurled her eyes towards the location of the sound, freeing her hold on Chuck. Out of nowhere, an object slowly materialised. Sarah’s fingers gradually curled over the gun that lay tucked beneath her shirt behind her.  
Chuck frowned. “Is that a ... police box?”

 

Wrapped tightly in his palm, the Doctor’s hand pushed down on a lever, parking the Tardis in position. His head lowered in self-pity. Everyone he had ever loved had somewhere else they needed to be. Or would rather be. He was cursed by the fate of loneliness and forced to lose all those that ever touched his hearts. Desolation always waited anxiously at the finish line of each journey he shared. It was the destiny of the Time Lords – cursed by time itself.   
Having left his ‘family’ behind, he had hoped Atlantis would feed his crave for adventure and instil a sense of ecstatic euphoria inside the gaping hole that came to represent his life. Besides, Atlantis had provided him with many a mirthful memory from his past visit and he anticipated that it would supply him with the same outcome now.   
Like the longer version of Superman’s cape, his brown and faded ankle-length trench coat blew behind him as he charged towards the front door of the Tardis, hauling it open. His red sneakers squeaked upon the foreign floor below, dragging him into an affluent world that had been stained with fear, thrill and adventure. 

 

The astonishing appearance of an unforeseen intruder startled both Chuck and Sarah’s eyes. Swiftly, she lifted her gun, ominously pointing it at his heart – the left one.   
The Doctor failed to immediately notice their presence and rather chose to absorb the intricacies of his current location. He pouted. “Ah, Atlantis! A little different from what I remember.” The caliginous illumination of Castle dimmed the tips of the Doctor’s spiked, brown hair and darkened the light blue tint of his suit into a subdued shade of blackened blue. His eyes wandered upwards, noticing the failing light bulbs above. “Ah, brilliant. They even discovered electric – oh hello.”   
Chuck and Sarah’s presence had been detected, causing her to frown with perplexity.   
“You’re British?”  
“Americans?”  
A wave of apprehension consumed her and her hands tautened round the gun. “Who are you?”  
He observed the weapon in her hand, the technologically advanced state of the underground base, and the obscure outfits of the strangers standing before him; forcing him to come to realise that he, in fact, did not arrive at the destination he had hoped for. Bummer.  
“So I am assuming this isn’t Atlantis then.”  
“Where did you come from?” she ferociously inquired, her glare strengthening into a ball of hostility.   
“Oh. Well from my Tardis,” he pointed.  
Chuck looked bewildered. “Um, sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Your what?”  
The nerdy appearance of the Buy More employee seemed oddly conversant to the Doctor. There was something extremely familiar about his looks. It was as though he had seen him before but failed to recall when and where. The logistics seemed inconclusive.  
“My Tardis,” he replied. “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. T.A.R.D.I.S. Tardis. Basically, it’s my spaceship. My really, really cool spaceship.”  
Chuck’s mind struggled to register the words that sprouted through the Doctor’s lips. “But that says police box?”  
“Exactly!” With a look of caution and authority, his eyes fell upon the wary glare of Sarah. “Would you mind not pointing your gun in my face?”   
Hibernating his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, the chilly air of Castle had left his skinny fingers numbly cold.  
She clicked the safety switch off of her gun. “Who are you?”  
“Me? Oh, yes. We haven’t been introduced. Hello. I’m the Doctor.”  
Chuck’s face morphed into a constipated expression:  
Voice recognition: The Doctor.   
Time Lord. Tardis. Time Vortex. Sonic Screwdriver. Regeneration. Two hearts.  
Rose Tyler. Donna Noble. Captain Jack. Martha Jones. Sarah Jane Smith. K-9. Harriet Jones.  
Sycorax. Daleks. Slitheens. Plastic Mannequins. Cybermen.  
Through the Doctor himself announcing his infamous name, all information that the CIA had documented on him flashed through Chuck’s mind, helping him grasp a full understanding of the peculiar man and woman that appeared, out of nowhere, before his eyes.   
“The Doctor?” Sarah replied. “What is that? Is that code?”  
He grinned with enthrallment. “Ah brilliant. You must be secret spies! Gotta love ‘em. Always thinking in codes, assuming everyone is a threat. They just adore all their guns, secret bases and oh so menacing glares. Which yours is spot on by the way. Governments! So entertaining.”  
She disregarded his ramble and drew her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Who gave you authorisation to be here?”  
He reached for the psychic paper located in the inside pocket of his suit. Though, this action alarmed her, believing his hand was about to extract a weapon. “Oh calm down, it’s just my identification,” he assured, handing her the paper. She glanced down at it, her cautious expression never fading.  
“This is blank,” she announced, handing it back to him. “If you’re a doctor then prove it.”  
Muddled by the paper’s cheap trick’s failure to work, he repeatedly glanced back and forth trying to cogitate why. “What!? Blank? You can’t see anything? Nothing? Oh, now that is fascinating.”   
Chuck attempted to interrupt the interrogation in order to inform Sarah of his flash. Though, she continuously disregarded the sound of his pleading voice.  
“If you are a doctor, why would anyone send you here? Did someone report a scratch? A bite?” she continued.  
The dented shape of the Doctor’s brows accentuated the questioning expression of his eyes. “Why …? Is something strange biting people?”  
Chuck attempted once more. “Sarah! Listen to me–”  
Frustrated, her head promptly darted in his direction. “What?”  
The silent room was soon accompanied by his finger’s rhythmic tap against his forehead. His lips mouthed the words, “I flashed”, forcing her alarmed eyes to widen. Although inaudible, the motion of his lips was simple to deduce and the Doctor easily understood the muted message sent to Agent Walker. Though, the context of the word ‘flashed’ seemed far too familiar. ‘I flashed.’ Where had he heard that expression before?   
Sarah pulled Chuck aside and out of the Doctor’s earshot.

 

“He is telling the truth, Sarah.”   
Gently, the palm of her hand softly stroked the back of her neck. “That can’t be possible. He called his mode of transport a spaceship.”  
“Yeah … um … he’s an alien.”  
She stared at him disparagingly. “What?”  
“Yeah, he is pretty much all alien. Specifically a Time Lord. But that doesn’t matter, Sarah, because he is the good guy. Among numerous occasions he has helped agencies such as MI6 stop other alien invasions form destroying our planet. I think it is safe to assume that he regards Earth as his friend. He’s like Clark Kent!”  
“Clark Kent? That’s his name?”  
“Ha-ha, what? No,” Chuck tittered. “That’s superm – anyway, the point is we have got to trust him. Right now, a zombie apocalypse is happening outside that door and he is our only hope in surviving it. His Tardis even has the ability to teleport me to Ellie and Devon where I can safely bring them back here. And I know what you are thinking, Sarah, but I have to protect my family. At all costs. He is the only one who can ensure their safety. So please don’t try and stop me, Sarah. They need–”  
“Okay.”  
His thoughts came to a screeching halt. “Wait what?” That wasn’t the response he anticipated.   
“Chuck, I believe you. If zombies are real then why can’t aliens. And yes, I agree. Your family needs protection.”  
Lines creased between his furrowed eyebrows. “Really …? Do you mean that?”   
She amusedly grinned.

 

“Stop, stop, stop. Everyone keep very still. What’s that noise?” The Doctor announced, forcing Chuck and Sarah’s intricate conversation to abruptly cease.   
“What’s what?”  
“That noise! It’s like a … a constant groan.”   
“I don’t hear anything,” Chuck announced with confusion.   
Sarah’s eyes tentatively glanced upwards, drawing attention towards the fact that she heard the undefined noise too.   
The zombies. The sound is coming from the … ‘Buy More’?   
Baffled, Chuck took notice of her peculiar reaction. “Sarah, what is it? What is he hearing?”   
A wary cloud overshadowed her. “Casey managed to lock up Buy More, right? That’s why you were able to send him on that errand?”   
He gulped, plastering dread across her face.   
“Chuck … Please tell me there are no more zombies in the store.”   
“Um, not exactly...”  
Her jaw clenched. “Where is Casey?”  
“Um … In the store…”  
“What!?”  
“Sarah, he left Morgan in the Buy More. Just left him there. To die! I couldn’t plainly sit back knowing my best friend was about to get killed by a hoard of zombies.”  
“Chuck, this is exactly why I wouldn’t let you leave earlier. Your friends and family are not our priority! You are. You have put Casey’s life in danger because your friend is too immature to face zombies on his own.”  
“Come on, Sarah, it’s Casey. I think he is doing just fine.”  
“That’s not the point, Chuck. Now he isn’t here to do his job – which is to protect you!”   
“Everyone just shut up,” the Doctor tried to interrupt. However they were too engrossed in their argument to adhere to his command.  
“Well then he shouldn’t have left Morgan there in the first place,” Chuck continued.  
“If Morgan falls behind then it is his responsibility to catch up. Casey is not his bodyguard.”  
“Casey is everyone’s bodyguard!”  
“You don’t even know if Morgan is still alive. What if he gets bitten?”  
“He won’t.”  
“You don’t know that.”  
“I am not going to just assume the worst, Sarah. He is my best friend.”  
“I know he’s your best friend, Chuck! You keep saying so!”  
“That’s because it’s true.”  
“Chuck, listen to me. That noise–”  
“What noise? There is no noise! Only you and the Doctor can hear it.”   
Fed up, the Doctor finally snapped. “Oh will you both just keep quiet!” His vociferous scream drew their attention towards him. Silence echoed through the underground base. “Much better. Thank you.”   
He charged towards a wall and pressed his ear against it, trying to listen intently. The groaning sound of walking zombies reverberated through the corridors, through the roof, through the walls. His mind continued to pinpoint the sound’s origin – what was creating that noise?   
The Doctor’s hand repeatedly jammed against his forehead, attempting to knock his brain into action. “Come on. Think. Think. Where have you heard that sound before?”  
“What sound!? I can’t hear anything,” Chuck exclaimed with exasperation.  
Drenched in horrid fright, the Doctor’s eyelids widened; his lower lip slowly dropped and the blood in his cheeks started to drain.  
“Oh. No. No, no, no!”  
“What? What is going on? What are you hearing?”   
A sinister sneer overburdened his features as rage clouded his eyes. Swiftly, his feet viciously trampled towards Chuck and Sarah.   
“You two. Why are you two down here? Are you stuck? Are you stuck down here?”   
“Why?–”  
“Don’t play coy with me,” he threatened. “What are you two hiding from?”   
Silence.   
“I know what is out there,” he shrieked; his aggression augmenting, “and if you two prove me right then you have no clue what you are dealing with! So prove me wrong. Now.”   
Silence.  
“For goodness sake, prove me wrong!”  
Chuck gulped, his face stained with worry. “Um ... ever heard of zombies?”

 

With a forceful push, Casey’s masculine body passed through the door of his Buy More locker. His protruding biceps tautened as his fingers curled into a tightened fist. Blank eyes stared back at him, widening with the look of desire. Groans escaped the dry lips of the brain-dead enemy that limped towards him. “Humph. They got you pretty bad,” Casey uttered. A gruesome gash rested upon the zombie’s right thigh, supplying the drooling blood which flooded down its leg. As if he’d encountered a violent clowder of cats, scratches stained his pale skin, covering his arms and back with eluded blood. The sharp, long nails of his arthritis fingers reached out in an attempt to claw away at Casey’s tough exterior. Sliding his duck feet across the locker room’s floor, he steadily neared the NSA spy, feeling the anticipation of shredding his prey sweep over him.   
Swiftly, Casey cupped his hand round the zombie’s wrist and slammed his fist into its face. “Lunch break’s over, kid!” He slit the zombie’s throat and jammed his knife into its brain. Blood gushed as he removed his weapon. He was uncertain as to whether this attack would kill the zombie; as earlier, during his ‘shopping spree’ for supplies, a bullet through the head seemed ineffective. But he wasn’t going to stay around to find out. 

 

A soft click followed the turn of a handle. Casey peeped through the somewhat opened doorway that led from the locker room into the store. His eyes fell upon the zoo of maddened cannibals that crowded the Buy More. They were like prostitutes waiting on every corner for a ‘hitchhike’. Only these crazed monstrosities waited for something more ghastly – human flesh.   
To an ordinary citizen, this route seemed impossible to survive. However, Casey was used to death-threatening situations. If the impendence of his demise wasn’t lurking along his path then his feet would travel down a different itinerary.   
His plan was to reach Big Mike’s office. That was where he last saw Morgan and so assumed he would still be there. Although, with Morgan to protect it would be impossible to successfully close the store and fight the remaining zombies. To add, he still wanted his cover to remain intact. Unleashing his dexterous fighting skills and extensive weaponry would tamper with his fake identity. Well, there was also the option of knocking the bearded bloke out cold…  
Just as his muscular arm was about to vigorously burst open the door and reveal himself to the inhumane crowd, an unexpected yelp blast through the store. Rapid legs charged for the entrance as an unknown, living customer tried to run to safety. The zombies zoned in on her attempted flee and began limping towards her, desperately aching to grab hold of her life and tear it to shreds. As she reached the entrance her hasty feet scraped the floor, ceasing in position.   
More zombies!   
Hundreds inundated the parking lot, streaming on and on, filling the streets with their stench and bearing the depiction of catastrophe. Under the boiling radiance of the sun, this frantic female would soon become a victim to the heinous crimes of the zombie. Her fate had now been sealed. There was no escape.   
Great! This idiot brought more zombies into the store. Can’t lock it up now.   
The groans and grumbles of death intensified with each zombie acknowledging her presence. As their irregular footsteps neared her, their droning sound diminished from Casey’s location. Now was his chance. Her misfortune paved the way for his success.   
He charged. His body quickly darted through the doorway. Although most were preoccupied, those near him felt it easier to attack him rather than mutilate her. He extracted his gun and fired bullets through their heads, hoping it would slow them down. Those in front of him received blistering punches to the face, in the hope of removing their presence from his pathway.  
His darting form caught the frightened, crackbrained woman’s eye and she enunciated her plea. “Hey! Hey. You. Sir! Help. Please. Please help me,” she trembled. His ears were forced to ignore her. Trying to save her would complicate his scenario and only endanger his life in the process. To add, he made a promise to Chuck that he would save Morgan. And Casey was definitely a man of his word.   
A predator’s claws nearly latched onto his rough skin. Luckily, he grabbed hold of his attacker just in time and kicked him in the gut, flinging him against the wall. Its fragile body made contact with the hard, plastered concrete and collapsed against the floor. The forlorn female’s plea ended with a single, sustained scream as the surrounding zombies discarded all evidence of who she physically appeared to be.   
Too late to help her now.  
Casey’s gun lifted, as the deafening sound of widened jaws about to dig their teeth into juicy flesh emanated from behind him. He turned and shot a bullet through its brain hoping to slow it down. With each strident footstep, he neared his refuge. Though, the closer he was to Big Mike’s office, the closer the zombies were to him. Increasing in amount, those finished mutilating the body of the woman were ready to attack their next victim – Casey.   
Morgan better be worth this, Chuck.   
The store was drowned in noise – groans heightened as the Buy More flooded with zombies urging to mangle their possible prey. The sound of gunshots burst through the corridors; repeating, repeating, and repeating. There were consistent scrapes against the floor as they dragged their feet across Buy More, following the rapid patter of Casey’s steady run.   
Finally.  
Tensed muscles in his arm thrust Big Mike’s office door open and he shoved it closed behind him, wrestling with a few zombies before it was able to shut. Without hesitation, he locked it, knowing it was only a matter of time before they broke the wooden door down, and it would be game over for him.   
“Grimes?” he called out, searching for any sign of Chuck’s best friend. Though, the empty corners of the office revealed his non-existent presence.   
Humph. Probably already part of the herd.  
His eyes wandered upwards, contemplating an escape through the air ducts. However a grumbling noise, coming from inside the office, startled his observant ears. It was definitely the voice of a zombie, chowing away at its evening meal. He clutched his gun tightly, ready to shoot.   
“Hungry, huh?” he exclaimed.   
The croaky groans of the enemy halted. Except for the burdening sound of hands banging against the office windows and door, the room was left in silence. Concern treaded among Casey’s path, fearing the deceased to be Morgan. Or even worse – Grimes being the hungry predator.   
Slowly, the growls continued, increasing in volume; and a large figure appeared from behind Big Mike’s desk. Blood smeared his full cheeks; his hands symbolised a murderer’s feast and drenched in the stain of a person’s death, his light-yellow tee and mustard-yellow nametag now obtained the mortifying colour of darkened red. His bald head and African-American physique resembled the life of an indolent store manager who failed to pass through the lethal claws of the Earth’s new rabid society.   
“So they got you, huh? That’s too bad.” A sharp scratch scarred Big Mike’s forehead, acting as the black mark of his life’s impending demise. It was quaint in coming to terms with; that Big Mike would never be normal again. He would never experience jocund tranquillity when his taste buds come into contact with Danish again. Fishing will never again be his luxury. Instead, his new addiction will be human flesh, constantly feigning for its delicious flavour.   
Darting his eyes to the corner, Casey tried to infer who the victim had been. Luckily, no beard infested the deceased’s face, leading him to conclude that Morgan was neither the zombie nor the attacked.   
Clearly Big Mike’s first meal wasn’t enough to fill his stomach and gradually, he wobbled towards the NSA spy. He groused consistently, maximising his volume with every step closer.   
The threatening pounds against the office windows became more and more ominous as time sped on. He had to act fast.   
“Farewell, Tucker,” Casey saluted. As quickly and as unexpected as a lightning bolt, Casey’s hands wrapped into a headlock and snapped Big Mike’s head, dislocating his vertebrae. And just to be certain, Casey’s knife stabbed through Big Mike’s brains, assuring his death (for now).   
Glass cracked. A splinter pricked through Casey’s green polo shirt, jabbing his back. Cold, wrinkly fingers stretched out, extending through the hole into the office.  
It won’t be long before the entire glass breaks.  
As hurriedly as possible, Casey jumped onto the desk and hauled himself into the air ducts. The glass shattered. Zombies made their way through; their hands merely missing his dangling legs.   
Phew. Close one.

 

Swaddled in foetal position, Morgan lay hidden behind the couch of the Buy More’s lounge room, concealing his face from reflecting off the humongous, black surface of the TV screen in front of him. He silently wept, clogging his mind with negative notions regarding his chances of escape. Nearly bitten, he managed to surpass the herd with a little ‘hide and seek’ and so far had not been found. Though, the longer he waited, the more he felt his time alive was wearing thin. He couldn’t even come to terms with the idea that any of his loved ones had fallen prey to the zombies’ bite. They had to survive, for he couldn’t determine what fate would be more chastising – eaten/transformed into a man-eating beast or surpassing this apocalypse with the burden of walking the rest of his life without a friend by his side?  
“Morgan.”  
The resonating sound of a whisper gently brushed his ears, removing his mind from his tormenting thoughts.  
“Morgan!” the voice repeated.  
Indecisive as to where the sound originated from, his head flung in all directions, searching for the speaker.  
“Up here you moron.”  
Falling upon the robust jaw-line of Casey, his eyes dilated with shock. Was this his ray of hope, providing him with an opportunity to escape from Pandora’s Box?  
“Casey!” he murmured. “You! You left me. I thought you weren’t coming back, man.”  
“Mph. I wasn’t. Chuck insisted.”  
“Chuck? What, Chuck? My buddy is still alive?”  
“Yeah. You scratched? Bit?”  
“Huh? Oh, no. No. But, Casey, do I have a bone to pick with you. How could you have just left me? Where is your honour, Casey? Where is your honour?”  
“Get over it. Now climb up here so we can go.”  
Morgan’s head peeked in on the zombies still pacing through the store, acting like customers uncertain of what to purchase. Even more so, this day mimicked Black Friday, leaving the Buy More just as packed to capacity as the day after Thanksgiving. There were still too many present. All it took was a slight twitch and his hideout would be discovered. “What? Are you insane? I am not climbing up there! They will see me.”  
“Oh, don’t be a cry-baby. Don’t you think it is about time you started wearing your big boy pants?”  
“Ha! The cheek. I’ll have you know that most masculine men fail to grow a full beard like mine. Take you for example. Where’s your beard, Casey?”  
With annoyed frustration, the spy dropped himself to the lounge floor below, causing a daunting thump to resonate from the sound of his shoes making contact with the ground.   
Nerves shot through Morgan’s heart, fearing Casey’s impulsive action had unravelled the lounge room’s security blanket. “Casey! What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”  
“Get up.”  
“Oh my gosh. This is it. You’re going to feed me to the zombies…”   
“Huh?” Despite his confusion with Grimes’s response, Casey’s thick fingers clutched hold of Morgan’s green polo shirt, pulling him up into standing position. Morgan gulped.   
The groaning sound of hunger slowly became audible as the frenzied zombies detected their presence. Casey had time though. Majority of them hadn’t reached the glass yet.   
He pulled back his fist, announcing, “Night, night” before introducing his knuckles to Morgan’s face. Clobbered with Casey’s potent blow, Grimes’s mind fell into the unconscious. 

 

Dropping his body from the air ducts into the locker room of Buy More, Casey flung Morgan’s lifeless body over his shoulder, ready to venture back to Castle. Closing the store would have to wait. He certainly couldn’t attempt such a mission with the passed-out Morgan by his side – or rather, over his side.   
Whilst entering in his security combination, his ears caught hold of the inauspicious grumbling clamour. They were getting close. Again.  
Just as his locker door unlocked, spindly fingers quickly wrapped round Casey’s ankle, gripping tightly for dear life. Gobsmacked and off-guard, he nearly fell off his feet, leaving his heart abruptly ceasing to pump.   
You? How are you able to still move?  
Slashed blood seeped across the floor. Its battered head, thrashed with the sharp point of a knife, lay gushed and motionless. However, the zombie’s body continued to react and flicker, as though it obtained a mind of its own. Although Casey mutilated the brain, the possibility of receiving a scratch from this zombie remained just as threatening. Without the brain, it was still able to function.   
How?  
Groans intensified. Droning scrapes of dragging feet neared the locker room. He couldn’t afford them discovering Castle. He had to depart. Now.   
Casey jammed his foot on the zombie’s wrist, forcing its instincts to persuade it into loosening its grip. Holding the door open, he slid through with Morgan still perched over his shoulder and safely charged through Castle. He turned to check that his locker was performing its function of automatically closing. Assured that it was he continued to run deeper into the heart of the underground base.   
However, sometimes your eagerness prevents you from entirely securing yourself from the danger that you flee from.   
Just before the locker shut; large, cold fingers grabbed hold of the steel door and with force, they gravitated it towards opening rather than closing. With the entrance into Castle left bare, limping cannibals slowly swayed down its corridors. Their wolf pack’s ominous howls echoed through the walls, announcing their need for a feast. The continuous, never-ending string of wounded, primate carnivores passed through into the underground base, leaving those present (and alive) soon coming face to face with the Grim Reaper’s handymen. Red tears from the damned formed trails of clustering droplets among the floor. Their sunken eyes and carved flesh told the tale of a failed warrior who lost the battle against the devil’s powerful trident. But their impending presence in Castle told an even grander tale – the narration of how they ensured other victims would fall prey to the poisonous touch of their jaded incisors.

 

The Tardis flung open. The Doctor shook the ground below with his hasty, ponderous sneakers and, fearing his retreat, Sarah and Chuck hastily followed him.   
“Hey! Where do you think you are going?” she truculently hollered. The blinding illumination of the Tardis’ natural and colourful sparkle stupefied their newcomer-eyes. With its tree-like branches eluding from its walls, electrical wires dangling from the elevated ceiling and ceaseless interior space, this ship could be nothing but alien. It acted as a reminder of Castle in a way, appearing to eternally exist; breeding more rooms round every corner.   
“Oh my gosh, it’s huge!” Chuck exclaimed; his face plastered with surprised bewilderment.   
“Yes, I know. Bigger on the inside,” the Doctor remarked, tinkering with a few buttons and levers. Concentration captured his eyes.  
“Doctor, if I could be so bold as to ask … um … are you running away?” A timid laugh bashfully escaped Chuck’s lips; fearing the zombie outbreak was so drastic, even the omnipotent Time Lord was too frightened to stay. “Because announcing that zombies are impossible to handle and then charging into your time machine tends to scream ‘out of here’…”  
“Need to find out more information on why they came here; and by the way, Sarah, you heard their groans but Chuck didn’t. Why’s that?”  
“What – how do you know my n–”  
“Chuck let it slip earlier. And that psychic paper. You really just saw nothing? Hmm … That’s odd. Very odd. But very, very interesting.”  
Glaring with suspicion, she lacked trust in the Doctor’s supposed certitude. He blatantly analysed her, spurring anxious feelings. His constant judgement nurtured vulnerability and she loathed the possibility of him reaching too close to her secret – albeit, private – identity.   
“Wh – what does that mean … does that mean anything?” Chuck asked, clouded with concern.  
“Donno yet.” Agitated, the Doctor’s eyes remained diluted and perturbed. “Dammit! Why won’t you work!?”  
“What’s wrong? What is it?”  
“When did they arrive? Did you see them get here?”   
“Who? The zombies? Well, no,” Sarah replied, softly stroking the back of her neck. “But what do you mean? The first bite?”   
“No! Well, yes. The transfer. Neither of you, you don’t know where it happened?”   
Blank faces stared back at him. Hurriedly, he evacuated the Tardis.  
“Where are you going?”  
A luminescent blue light beamed in his hand as he extracted his sonic screwdriver, using it’s abilities as a means of hacking into the CIA government’s mainframe. “What’s that? What are you doing?” Chuck fretted.   
The Doctor’s fingers frenetically spread over a computer’s keyboard, searching for information.  
“It’s a screwdriver. A sonic one.”  
Sarah’s gun lay cupped in her hand and she pulled it to his face, attempting to halt his illegal activity. “Get off of there. That is CIA property and you have no permi–”  
“AHH!” He lashed his hand against the monitor. “You know surely, located somewhere in the entire internet, is the recording or information on the Jumbies’ arrival!”   
Jumbie?   
“Oh and Sarah,” the Doctor continued; “the next time you threaten or order me around, just remember who it is you are trying to intimidate.”  
She grimaced. “Right, and who is that exactly? The nickname ‘Doctor’ doesn’t really reveal much.”  
“’The Doctor’ is all you need to know.”  
“Is that so?”  
“Ohh yes. Currently governments all across the world are praying for my assistance out of this nightmare so it is good to keep in mind that I am one person you do not want as an enemy.”  
“Oh, well now that’s a little arrogant.”  
Stained with disdain, a menacing frown scowled his face. “More like the inconvenient truth.”  
Frantically, Chuck’s hands flew in the air, trying to disrupt their dispute. “Uh, uh, guys. Let’s not fight, okay. No one is the enemy here. So let’s just act like adults and play-play nice, all right,” he suggested, gently lowering Sarah’s raised gun. “That’s it.”  
“You mentioned Jumbies,” she asked sternly, “What are they?”

 

“Jumbies, as they are called, are species that have been infected with the virus called Pascentium Cerebrum that lives inside the blood of the Zombian species.”  
Huddled together, Chuck and Sarah sat across from their narrator, listening to his involute story. “Zombians themselves are moderately peaceful creatures. Autotrophic. Like plants. Physically, they appear similar to humans. Though, they lack ears or vocal cords which inhibit their ability to hear or speak. Oh, but boy are they smart! Ten times more intelligent than people.”  
“Okay …”   
“Amazingly, their entire skin is covered in one giant cuticle that protects them from the sun. And the strange part is; they absorb their nutrients through the underside of their feet. Hah! How brilliant is that? Imagine humans. Walking round barefoot. Mind you, your feet would probably burn in the summer…”  
“These … Zombians, where do they come from?” Sarah inquired, hindering his off-trail thoughts. Tenderly, her palm soothed the back of her neck as though an itch irritated her skin.  
“There is a planet called Zomb, which is galaxies and galaxies away from here. That was their home.”  
“… Was?”  
“Yeah. Peaceful planet. Beautiful. Absolutely exquisite. So luscious and green. You would see waterfalls stream into rivers; mountains reaching out across the land. Magnificent place. However, just like most amazing worlds, it got destroyed. That’s war. Murder in itself.”  
“Is that why they are here?” Chuck queried. “They need a new home?”  
“Exactly. Well, that’s my theory.”  
“Okay, so this virus,” Sarah mentioned, diverting the conversation back to the matter at hand, “why is it attacking humans?”  
“Well, it’s simple. Foreign species enters this world bringing their foreign virus with them. Foreign virus gets into the bloodstream of you Earthlings and starts eating away at your cells.”  
“But why do they turn into those … uh –”  
“Jumbies?”  
“And why won’t they die if you shoot them in the head,” Sarah butted in.   
“Wait, what. Destroying the brain doesn’t work?” Chuck’s eyes bulged with fright. Casey tried to inform him of this earlier. ‘They don’t die, Chuck.’ If that was so, then he basically sent Casey into the lion’s den unarmed. “Sarah, how did you defeat those zombies you fought in the Orange Orange?”   
Falling to the ground, her stringent eyes fell prey to the overbearing look of disquietude. Appearing closed off; she hid herself behind her protective barrier, fearing his question would unveil her secret. “Why don’t you ask the Doctor? He seems to have all the answers.”  
Observantly, the Time Lord analysed her questionable behaviour, acknowledging its peculiarity.   
“Doctor, how do they die?”   
“Ah, humans! You never fail to amaze me. Always. Every time. Something threatens you and your first instinct is to kill it before it kills you. Without consciousness, you would be no better than a Jumbie.” Their lack of words revealed their stunned silence and he proceeded with his explanation. “Simply put, the virus infects the human through the Zombians blood combining with human blood. This is usually transferred through a scratch or a bite. The virus travels to the human’s brain and begins feeding off of the human’s brain cells, eventually leaving the organism brain dead. But, luckily for the virus, and it is one smart virus; in doing so, it ingests human DNA. The virus mutates from an individual virus cell into something like a ‘virus brain’. So when the human brain ceases to function, this mutated virus accumulates cells as a unit in the base of the skull, more specifically called the brain stem, at the top of the spinal column. This ‘virus brain’ now begins operating similar to that of a human’s, just without human thought patterns and consciousness. And because it has human DNA built into it, cells are still able to respond to stimuli like a human would. So instead of the organism functioning as a human, it merely modifies into an organism, the Jumbies, which are just parts reacting and responding to stimuli.”  
Chuck’s countenance was smeared in fearful confusion. “Oh … that’s … simple.”  
“Oh come on. That was basic enough, wasn’t it?”  
“You had me at ‘you are no better than Jumbies’. After that, you lost me.”  
“Okay, Chuck. Think of it like this,” Sarah interrupted. “The CIA is the brain. They protect America which helps the country function smoothly. Without the CIA, the country would be corrupted with ‘terrorists’ which, in referring to the disease, are the virus. These ‘terrorists’ then invade the CIA. They collaborate with rogue CIA spies, which are the human DNA, and form a rogue organisation called ‘Fulcrum’. That, Chuck, is the ‘virus brain’. Fulcrum can operate just like the CIA, but don’t have as many spies nor acquire the amount of secret information and weaponry that the CIA possesses. Thus, they aren’t as ‘developed’.”  
“So, Chuck,” the Doctor intercepted, “get the picture? Oh goood.”  
“That makes sense, but I still don’t understand how a bullet through the brain can’t kill them.”  
“Still harping on about death, are we? What is it with you humans? So obsessed with dying. The human brain eventually dies. The virus eats it up. Like a three course meal, gobbles it whole. Shooting the Jumbie in the brain won’t make a difference. The brain’s already dead.”  
“So how do you kill it?”  
“Well if you haven’t figured that out yet then you aren’t getting the answer from me.”  
Walker scowled with morbid disgust. “What?”   
“You both are too obsessed with killing them. Until you learn to understand that murder is not the first resort, then and only then will I tell you how to kill a Jumbie. They are a new breed of species. No matter how dangerous they are they deserve to live just as much as we do.”  
“They will eat us!” Chuck shrieked.   
“Oh, well now calm down. They’re just hungry.”  
“Sarah, you fought them in Orange Orange,” Chuck stated, his voice heightened with anxiety. “What did you do to stop them from attacking you?”  
She ignored his query, trying to avert the attention away from her. “Do the Jumbies eventually die? I mean, wouldn’t the virus kill it?” This avoidance left Chuck mildly bewildered.  
“Eh, well no, not really. Viruses can’t live outside a living host. This virus takes over the body, keeps it alive so it can survive.”  
“Okay. So why do they eat? And bite and … um, scratch?” Continuously, her hand continued to rub against the back of her neck, as if she pulled a muscle or woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  
“Like I said. Basic urges are still there. They have a stomach. They need to fill it.”  
“Um … I got a question,” Chuck remarked, “why only eat humans? Why not, I don’t know, other Jumbies?”  
“Do you know what a Jumbie smells like? Their scent is revolting. Nothin’ would want to eat that. But they eat most animals I presume. It’s just that humans have an attracting scent, draws them in. Like a bee attracted to a flower.” 

 

Welcomed silence announced their minds’ need to mull over the astounding information. But the Doctor couldn’t spare any more time discussing news he already knew. He had to come up with a plan of action. And fast. More and more humans were transforming every hour and he had to ensure the human race would stay alive. They didn’t have to cease to exist just so the Jumbies could live. 

 

Startled, Chuck’s eyes widened with fear.   
“Uh, guys…”   
Both heads darted in his direction.   
“Do you remember earlier when you both heard that noise and I couldn’t hear a thing…?”  
Sarah wearily frowned. “Yeah…?”  
“Well I’m hearing it now…”  
The Doctor’s succulent, rosy cheeks morphed into a cold, pale reflection of death. Dread consumed his eyes. “That must mean they’re close.”  
“Close?”  
“Here. In this underground base.”  
“What?”  
Feeling nervous, Sarah gnawed her bottom lip as her hand delicately rubbed the back of her slender neck. This continual action allured the Doctor’s attention.   
What was on her neck? And why keep rubbing it?  
After her feminine fingers fell away, and just before her glimmering blonde hair shaded the back of her neck, a daunting mark grazed her skin. Dried up blood cased the outline of her scab.   
Was that a scratch?

 

Slowly, light replaced darkness as his eyelids buffered, gradually awakening. The blurry picture displayed before him demystified, allowing the pellucid world around him appear clearer. The aftereffect of Casey’s vile punch caused a pounding sensation to beat against his skull and against his eardrum. As he yawned, stretching his sore muscles, his ears adhered to the haunting sound of hunger. His concentration became perspicuous as he finally took notice of his astonishing location.   
“Jail? What? I’m in jail? How did I – Casey …”  
Out of control, his eyes darted across the room, looking for an escape. “Casey?”  
Then bang.   
The persistent hammer against the unbreakable glass door of his jail cell startled him.   
Zombies. Hundreds of zombies. All hungry for Morgan’s flesh.  
Their razor-sharp teeth stunned his brittle heart. Long, pointed nails pecked the security glass. Gruesome, starved eyes stared back at him. He attempted to calm himself down. Surely he was safe in the jail cell wasn’t he?  
Wrong.  
Gradually, the mass force of numerous bodies cracked the ‘unbreakable’ barrier. Slowly a fissure started to form, zigzagging down the glass-door.  
He gulped, shutting his eyes closed. Was this the end?


End file.
